


An Inward Breath

by cosmicchelc



Series: Lucifendi Stories [20]
Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicchelc/pseuds/cosmicchelc
Summary: In which the past five years of Lucy's memories of Alfendi Layton are eradicated after a case gone wrong.Lucy Layton, much to his horror, was no more in her mind. In her mind, she was still the incorrigible Lucy Baker.And by God, does that realization hurt.
Relationships: Lucy Baker/Alfendi Layton
Series: Lucifendi Stories [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1106973
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	An Inward Breath

**Author's Note:**

> this one has been in the works for awhile and I've only recently been able to finish it up and polish it as much as my eyes can allow. though I reread it after I published and I see so many errors, oh crap...I hope it doesn't alter your enjoyment of the story though.
> 
> happy 20 stories of Lucifendi! didn't think my love for this fandom could be any bigger, but hey, here we are.

The weight of the ring on his finger never felt so heavy.

If anything, it always felt like it was something he had purposefully been _missing_. 

But not this time.

When he finally had the time, he once asked her why she had made the ring as it was. Apparently, she had insisted that his ring would be specially made and had been saving up secretly for months. Half gold, half silver, split between the middle to indicate her love for _both_ of them. A single ring to indicate she loved Alfendi Layton and the two that resided within him—whether anyone liked it or not.

Five years, she had lived with her own similar one on her finger to represent the same love. Sapphire and ruby together, with a single garnet in the middle. She never took it off, much like he never did. It remained missing from her finger.

"Why aren't you in there?" Hilda murmurs quietly and Alfendi remembers where he is, snapping out of his reverie. Hospital corridor. Outside of Lucy's room. _Lucy's room_.

"It would make no difference, would it?" Al says back, Fendi still reeling with the news. It became common for them to live in some sort of discordant harmony—something that should be contradictory, but no. It never was, not in Lucy's eyes at least. A testament to how much she truly loved him.

"It would. She needs you." Hilda flicks her wrist, allowing her chin to rest on the ball of her hand. Her other arm keeps it up. "It would make a _very_ big difference."

Alfendi doesn't speak. He can see Florence speaking idly with Sniffer, who had come in support for him after they had discovered Lucy had woken up. He focuses on the IV drip that Florence always brings rather than the abysmal emptiness of the fluorescent lights and dreary walls. Florence, despite her lab coat attire that was similar to his own, hardly looked like she belonged here. None of them should be here, period.

" _Alfendi_." His full first name is oddly foreign on Hilda's lips, her intonation as soft as she can allow it. He forces himself to look at her, the damned woman that seemed to care for him by any degree despite their break-up. Her normally well brushed hair was in a mess, makeup that clearly needed to be touched up was smudged here and there. Her clothes are rumpled, wrinkles indicating long periods of sitting in the plastic chairs of the hospital. She had stayed with him throughout the whole ordeal, much to his dismay but slight relief. He didn't want to go through this by himself, no matter how much he bit harsh remarks into her mercilessly. "She wouldn't want you out here digging your fingernails into your palms looking like a lunatic in the hallway. She would want you _in there_."

"She's asleep." Fendi says the words as fact, rather than the other thing he would have said if he lacked a filter: ' _She doesn't remember me.'_ If he said them, he worries that their factual nature would cloud him more. Hilda places a manicured hand on his shoulder. He jerks away; she doesn't try it again, instead opting to keep her hands to her sides. The only person he'd ever allow to do that to him was _his wife_.

His wife who was an idiot, but his idiot nevertheless. His wife, who rose to ranks to be a Detective Chief Inspector, just like him in a short amount of time.

His wife, who had gotten used to going to crime scenes by herself, using the Reconstruction Machine solely when she needed to examine the crime scene again.

His wife, who had reassured him that she still knew her way with a weapon and would be fine in investigating by herself, _without_ backup.

His wife who had kissed him on the lips that day, refusing to hear his objections of safety and expressed that it would be an easy job.

His wife, who had gotten herself kidnapped, beaten, and is in a hospital bed with more injuries than he can count.

His wife, who was found unconscious, tied in a chair, and could have had worse things done to her save for a gruelling—yet amateur, so it was _worse_ —beating.

His wife, whose trusty orange hat lay just a few metres away from where she had gone missing, the only comfort he had during that period of uncertainty.

"Go to her, Alfendi." Hilda softly urges again, lacking in any sense of bitterness for the cold shoulder he was giving. He wants to scream at her, to tell her to piss off. But Lucy wouldn't have wanted that, definitely. She would have smacked him lightly on the arm with a soft glare, enough for him to sigh and respond in a better pleasantry.

Well, she would have.

"You should leave. You've been here as long as I have. Get some sleep." His words are flat, but he feels the rising anger with the more she stands there. He wants to blame somebody, anybody. The people responsible were dead by his hand, gunshot wounds through their heart. On paper, it would be self-defence on his part— _they_ jumped him. In actuality, it wasn't. He wishes he could have caused them a much more excruciating approach of pain, but Lucy's safety was paramount. Always.

"I will when you go to her. Unconscious or not, I don't care. She needs you just as much as you need her, Al. And what you're doing, yes, what _you're_ doing isn't going to help her." She gives him another frustratingly understanding look before joining Sniffer and Florence. He wants to express distaste in doing so, but he knows when he's been beaten. He takes this moment to slip into the hospital room, where his beloved lay.

His dearly beloved who didn't remember him.

Lucy Layton is curled on her side, arm wrapped around the soft pillow and her mouth open, slightly agape as saliva trails off. The same position she would have been in, had they been sleeping in their shared flat together. A small smile traces his features. She's safe, at least.

Lucy Layton also looks the same since the last time he had seen her. Roughed up, yes, but inherently still Lucy Layton by appearances alone. Anyone who knew her or saw a government issued ID and compared the two would immediately be able to tell that it was her. Short ginger hair, tussled by sleep, soft pale skin with only some parts covered with bandages and bruises. Inherently, it was still Lucy Layton in the flesh. Breathing in front of him, softly.

She is also, at the same time, not Lucy Layton.

In her mind, she's still Lucy _Baker_.

She exists in her mind as the twenty-two year old woman that was about to take the test to determine if she was fit to be a Detective Constable. Eating bad Balti the night before she had to take that test, making it her excuse as to why she was so poorly when in reality, she was just a hands-on learner. Just about to be assigned to the back offices with Inspector Alfendi Layton, about to have the craziest tenure of her life.

She is _not_ the twenty-eight year old, married to Alfendi Layton after four years of dating, one year of marriage. 

Not in her mind, no no.

The years of their love have been erased from her mind. How convenient.

He remembers the moment she woke up in vivid clarity. The way she blinked, the gasp of surprise escaping his lips, subsequently followed with a groan of pain and inquiry of where she was. Fendi wanted to kiss her, Al wanted to berate her at how stupid she had become over the years despite being a Detective Inspector, but both also wanted to hug and protect her from any further harm. He would have but the moment she asked him who she was stopped him in his tracks. The way she blinked, eyes narrowing and trying to determine her surroundings confirmed the outcome in his gut.

Retrograde amnesia, the doctor had said. But he stopped listening after that.

How he wishes he could remove from his memory the way her eyes looked at him, peering at him as though he was still a new person to meet. It held a sense of innocence and wary charm that he remembered back when she first appeared in his office.

She had been told, of course, who he was to her, by the nurse who was there when she opened her beautiful eyes. Those eyes that had stars in their eyes, which were now dim from confusion. She couldn't connect the dots, couldn't connect the pieces that were placed in front of her together. She didn't know how to act in front of her damn husband, how to speak to him, how to address the man that she saved years ago.

She doesn't remember stepping into the back office of the Mystery Room, accusing him for something as a 'practice' for other criminals.

She doesn't remember any of the cases they worked on together.

She doesn't remember the first kiss they had shared, a few weeks after Forbodium over sushi.

She doesn't remember her falling in love with him. An incredible effort, he's sure, that can't be recreated anymore.

She doesn't remember being the one to propose to him in the Mystery Room, laying in the couch that Alfendi had moved in the corner upon her request. The long case finished but way too lazy to actually get up to go home to their shared flat. The memory of the way she had lifted his right hand, sliding the band that now resided on his finger permanently and whispered ever so quietly, ' _Marry me, Prof...'_ in his ear stilled the lazy patterns he had been drawing on her back.

She doesn't remember how startled he was, how he glanced between her and the ring on his finger and said, ' _Isn't it my duty to propose to you?'_ to which she merely responded, _'You took too long, love.'_

She doesn't remember their talks about having a child before this case.

Those facts alone are enough to break him into a billion little pieces.

He knows that it's possible that the memories could come back to her, eventually. The doctors weren't sure—amnesia was a pain to figure out, they had said. But it probably was. _Eventually_ had too large of a margin of error. He bets, without a doubt, that there was a 98.34% she would never recover her memory.

And he is hardly, if ever, _wrong_.

It was stifling to think of.

He doesn't realize that he's near her side until he blinks again. She has moved marginally in her sleep, the soft sound of her breathing ringing in his ears. She looked coloured in, but just enough. Not enough to colour the rest of his world, though. His hand hovers above the one clutching the pillow. He almost wants to take it and hold it. A sense of security, perhaps, for himself.

He does nothing of the sort, instead choosing to rub the wedding ring in his trouser pocket—the one that was supposed to be on her finger.

* * *

Lucy has no choice but to live with him for the time being. Her family is all in Yorkshire, all unaware of her sudden onset of amnesia or her kidnapping. Not that they really needed to. It wasn't like _they_ were erased from her living memory. _He_ was.

He's given the task of repairing her. It's not something he wants to really do. Not with his emotional state in such a tizzy.

Really, the actuality of the case is that it's meant to bide his time and watch his wife look at him as though he doesn't belong.

It's not intentional. He knows this. She wouldn't actually ask to have all her memories of him wiped. She was the one who loved him first, the one who held him in such a high regard.

It doesn't stop the irrational feeling of frustration in his chest.

The need that boils in his chest bothers him. Under normal circumstances, he'd hold her. He'd whisper the sweetest of nothings while her fingers carded through his messy locks, murmuring just how lucky he was to have her stumble into his office that fateful morning. He wants to do sinful things to her, take her to bed and promise his undying love just like he had all those years ago.

The reverie breaks at the sight of Lucy, twiddling her thumbs as she steps into what they had called theirs, crutches supporting her weight.

"The guest room is on the left, bathroom right next door. If you have any questions, just ask." Al mutters, falling into the couch without another word. Lucy bit her lip, edging close to the loveseat that was nearby, as though she couldn't get any closer to him. It hurt to see it—the way she looked as though the entire space was unfamiliar, even though _she_ had been the one to decorate all of it.

"Ee..." she scratches the back of her head, smiling sheepishly.

"What?" Al snaps, then at her startled look of hurt and surprise, he took a shaky breath to console himself. Al berates himself inwardly—no need for Fendi to add fuel to the fire of his incompetence. Besides, it would do no good to get frustrated at her. It wasn't her fault, _it wasn't her fault_. He needed to thread through carefully. This wasn't something he could just brute force his way through. "I'm sorry. That was...rude of me...Yes, Baker? What do you need?"

"Can you tell me?" She asks quietly, much more shy than she typically was. It was jarring. In normal circumstances, she'd be headstrong and forthright in most of her words. Never hesitating, jumping to conclusions. Had she not been in the Scotland Yard, he'd perhaps would have assumed that she was the type to be recalcitrant in nature.

"Tell you what?" Fendi asks and she shifts in place, the obvious air of malaise around her.

"I was...curious. 'ow did we become...us? Er...I..." Lucy cringes inwardly, cursing under her breath. He almost laughs, the reaction so normal for him now—all because of her. Instead, he keeps his lips at a thin line, waiting patiently for the words to come to her. She peers down at the white rug, as though it was much more interesting than anything else in the world. "I know it's really hard for you but...maybe it would help...if I had somethin' to jog the memory. That's what the doctor said, at least." So she still held some sort of semblance of hope she would regain her past. He lets out a low sigh, nodding.

"Alright." He agrees, motioning towards the love seat she had been gripping tightly up until that point. She manages to bring her shaky legs over to the front of the seat with some effort, sitting down and peering to him for the first time. It still lacked the warmth of knowledge, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he began to speak to the coffee table. It would be easier to recount without looking at her confusion.

"It was after you exonerated me for a crime four years prior to the reopening of the case. It came to light why I had two personalities inside me, to which you had previously called Al and Fendi. We started to get close after that, admittedly. You didn't see me as an abnormality, you saw me for the man you had met and continued to work with even through Al's threatening nature and my... _complications_." Fendi pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to control the way his voice was wavering. It wouldn't do to be like this, no, not at all. He peers over to her, seeing that she was drinking in every single word he said in quiet interest. 

"...If anything, it spurred you on more. It started off as brief touches, small lingering glances that made everyone at the Yard start a pool on when we were going to get into a relationship. It never bothered you, even as they all warned I wouldn't be good for you. We started working late nights at the Mystery Room—my— _our_ office. We'd be writing up paperwork and at one point, I apparently fell asleep in your arms and you did too. I woke first, that day, and I peered up to the way that..."

"That?" She urges softly.

"The light against your complexion, the way your mouth was open ever so slightly and saliva was already dripping from it. To anyone, it looked unprofessional and a bit unsanitary. To me...you looked beautiful. I didn't just see you as my assistant anymore. I saw you as something more. I knew better than to jump into something I wasn't sure I could fulfill, especially with my condition. Regardless if you accepted it or not. I woke you up and you were a flustering mess. That was the finality, I would say. I wanted to...date you. To be with you in a way that wouldn't do while you were under my mentorship. I informed Commissioner Barton that I felt that you were ready to be an Inspector, to which he agreed, especially because of Forbodium's events. On the day of your promotion, I asked you to be my girlfriend." He laughs, the warmth coming back to him, even if it was so marginal. "You rejected me at first."

"I did?"

"Mm. You said that I'd have to work hard than just being 'adorable' and I would have to court you properly, citing that Forbodium was not a good first date. So I did. I asked you on a proper date to my favorite restaurant. It didn't end up working. You said it was too stuffy, I agreed, and I took you back home to your flat. I was going to make the first move, to ask if it was okay to kiss you. You...made the first move. I didn't respond for a moment and you were about to pull away, but Al had other plans. Snogged you like there was no tomorrow, but I reeled him in before we could get any further. I wanted to court you properly. One small kiss wouldn't do." He ponders for a moment, the night coming to him. "We watched crap telly and snuggled together. It astounds me how you were able to go back to work the following day without mentioning it. It took me a week before Al practically screamed at you for taking too long. A kiss shut him up though. It snowballed from there, introducing our newfound relationship as a couple, moving in together... Before I knew it...we were married."

"Oh."

The single sound of the vowel escapes her lips, filled with emotion—frustration, regret, and irritation. Even he can tell—she hates that she can't remember something so vital to her life. She hates it all. Even his story couldn't cause her to remember.

He finds the courage to finally peer up to her and finds that she's crying, the tears unabated despite her attempts to tamper it down against her coat sleeve. He wants to rush her just like he had felt when she first opened her eyes in the hospital; to hold her and bid away all the negativity that's causing her to feel this. It takes it all to hold it in.

"Lucy, I'm...I'm sorry." He swallows the lump in his throat, hard.

"That's...I'm the one that should be sorry, _Alfendi_. I can't believe this. I forgot something so...important." The call to his real name causes him to flinch, but he doesn't comment on it. The sound of professionalism should never, if at all, come from her lips unless it was required of her. Not in this personal setting, not in their own home. It's unnatural—he was so used to Prof, Al, or Fendi that his given name causes such pause. 

"It's...It's not your fault. Do you want a cuppa?" Fendi asks as softly as he can muster through gritted teeth and she nods quietly. He wants to comfort her, but it appears that even the universe wouldn't allow such simple luxuries. Instead, he balls his hands into fists and strides to the kitchen without another word.

* * *

Mornings and evenings used to be Alfendi's favorite time of day, without a doubt.

Afternoons were equally quaint and lovely, but there was something different about the way mornings and evenings tended to only house the two of them.

Back then, he rose in the morning to see his darling Lucy, one arm generally haphazardly splayed across his naked torso, occasionally her hand on the scar from the bullet from years past. Her head rested on his collarbone with a light snore escaping her plush lips. Not to mention her limbs and the way they generally tangled between his legs was a sight to behold back then. When she arose, sleepily looking to him and grinning goofily like she still couldn't believe she was still with him. He too, smiled that way, regardless of who was in the forefront. Al and Fendi loved her all the way, through and through.

Evenings were equally as wonderful, how they'd crawl into the warmth of their bed and just revel in each other's hold, as though they were two lovers coming together after ages of being away from the other's presence. He'd regale his cases and she'd do it in equal favor, with the two Detective Inspectors offering each other tips and sometimes laughed themselves silly at some of the suspects they had to interrogate.

How could someone so intelligent, so intrinsically beautiful, so _perfect_ settle for someone like him? The question sped past him so many times but he never dared as her—he was sure she'd blush and tell him that _he_ was the blessing in this relationship, but how wrong she was.

Before Lucy, he had woken up to lonely mornings and forced himself to sleep on restless nights after Forbodium thinking he had lost any bit of normalcy when Hilda could not bare being with someone that was no longer the same and two voices dominated in his mind space. That had been the norm for him.

It took him four years, but he found someone who could love him, someone who taught him how to breathe even though he thought he knew how.

Lucy Layton was, to Alfendi, the most crucial aspect of an inward breath.

He's not sure he knows how to breathe anymore as the other side of the bed remained cold and empty; the only solace he had left was her pillow. At least, by all means, it still smelled like her.

* * *

Alfendi gets bored of cold cases very quickly—it had been his temporary solution while he couldn't leave the flat to care for her. Most of them had been stimulating, but he felt the tug of loneliness as he had nobody to necessarily regale his discoveries to. He certainly couldn't do it with Lucy—she'd feel out of place and probably feel obligated rather than actually desire to do so.

He was about to open his mouth, perhaps to ask Lucy what she would like for dinner when she let out a low curse and slammed her fist on the kitchen counter.

"Lucy?" Fendi asks, peering up from his position at the couch and trying to see what had caused the uncharacteristic curse. He remembers how Lucy had mentioned she liked to refrain from cursing unless it was of importance—something she had apparently thrown out the window twice in the past week.

"Ee, sorry Alfendi. I...er...got upset." She shakes her head, trying to clear the fog in her head as though the shakes would do something. "It's nothin'."

"Care to share why?" Al requests and her brow furrows, before ultimately conceding to sharing her reasoning for her outburst.

"I just had the thought of havin' some takeout, since you haven't eaten yet...I remembered that I don't know where any of the good places are or what you like. Nowt in my head about it. I...I don't like it." She chuckles, though it's stripped of any sort of mirth. "Sorry. I..."

"It's fine." He waives a hand in the air, attempting to sound nonchalant. "You like that one Thai place a few blocks from here normally. I can call them for takeout." Fendi offers, grabbing ahold of his mobile. She meekly nods, a small affirmation from her throat enough for him to dial.

* * *

He would very much like to believe he has enough self-control to not yell at her. It wouldn't do anything, he knows. Even as the two personalities argue with such conviction in their shared space, they know it won't bring back the warm body that would typically be with him in bed. He notes of her longer portions of absence, which she typically stays in the guest room, save for eating or going to the bathroom.

The suffocating nature only gets stronger with every minute of every hour of every day.

"You know, ya don't have to stay here." She says one morning after a whole week of living but not _quite_ living with her. He peers up from his bowl, an eyebrow raised in his direction from his wife—no, his _flatmate_ at the moment. "Aren't you a Detective Inspector?"

"I am. But they don't—"

"You should." She says, the emotion in her voice unreadable. Was it fear? Concern? "You look miserable. Really. You miss it, don't you? I can see it in your eyes when you think I'm not looking. I...I don't want you to be cooped up here when you're probably happier at the Yard." She stumbles over her words, trying to find the best way to basically tell him to get away from her. Leave her alone, to stop looking at her like some poor kicked puppy.

"Are you...sure?" He queries and she nods.

"Aye. I don't want to keep you here. It...it hurts to see you like that. I can't really explain it." She scratches the back of her head. Her hair is getting too long. She'll need to cut it soon.

"Alright. I'll take a half-day, see what cases I can finish quickly." He concedes, knowing that there was very little he could argue about. 

He goes to the Yard, half expecting his appearance to be the fodder of Hilda's ire when he walks in. He's partially right—he is the subject of her ire, though it takes her a solid hour before realizing that the Mystery Room had an inhabitant.

"Alfendi Layton, pray tell, what the bloody hell are you doing _here_? Lucy has only been discharged for a week." He peers up from the Reconstruction Machine, finding Hilda's very disapproving glare directed directly to him. Anger flares in his chest, but he opts to smooth his lab coat down of wrinkles and face her.

"What does it look like?" Al responds, rolling his eyes. "You're observant enough, aren't you?"

"Don't be an arse, Al, it doesn't suit you. Where is Lucy? Pray tell, you didn't bring her _here_." Hilda cranes her neck slightly, examining the room but finding no sign of her.

"Do you see her? She's at...home. She's fine." He falters and much to his dismay, the blonde woman is able to catch his misstep. For all the crap he was giving her, she was a decent enough Inspector to know better than to fall for his excuses.

"And you're not there because...?"

"She asked me to leave her alone and I'm sure she can make decisions for herself. She's not a child anymore." He shifts his attention back to the Reconstruction Machine—perhaps Hilda could take a hint and bugger off. She does nothing of the sort. Of course. Years later and she's still stubborn.

"Decisions that require information that she lacks. You know how she is, Al. If you're not there, she'll make an error in judgement." She crosses her arms, "She doesn't think sometimes, that wife of yours. Much like yourself—"

A sharp flame of frustration flickers in his throat, quick to defend his own wife rather than himself. He turns back to her, eyes narrowing. "Shut up, Hilda. You don't know _anything_."

His exasperation must have shown in his features, as Hilda herself falters in her accusation.

"Perhaps I don't. But I know enough to know when someone should be at home and not—"

"Don't, Hilda." Al lets out a low exhale, clenching his fists. "Please. Let me work in peace."

The word 'please' definitely strikes something in her as she practically looks startled, almost stunned to submission. Lucy always did tell Al that he needed to say 'please' more, to which he responded that Fendi was there for that.

She doesn't let up easily, however, "Al. You need to think about the future—"

"I already know what's going to happen in the future, Hilda. When she's healed, she's going to _leave_ and I will let her because she's my friend, regardless of what I feel. I will dissolve our marriage and let her live her life without qualm. She's still young and I will not force her to stay with me for selfish reasons." If his admission of _please_ stunned her, this practically stops her breathing. "Now leave me, _please_."

It takes her a moment to recollect, but when she does, she has a hardened glare in her eyes.

"Fine, I will. If she's injured while you're here staring at that machine, don't say I didn't try to put you back in your rightful place." She's almost out the door before she adds on in a softer tone, "I would have thought that you would have worked harder for your _marriage_ , Al. Safe to say that hasn't changed." She steps away without another word and he knows that she's right, without a doubt.

* * *

She's not injured several hours later.

Not that he was thinking she would be.

He comes home to her saying she has an appointment with her doctor tomorrow; she'll be having a boot fitted on her ankle or something.

He doesn't really listen to her excited chatter—he just knows it's the beginning of an end.

He has to start on the divorce papers and finding a flat for her. It's the least he could do.

* * *

"You stopped wearing your wedding ring." She points out to him on an evening, one of the rare times she's not sulking in her room. It's been only two days since she's had the boot put on her, a week and three days since she's come home. She has the newly fitted boot on her ankle, allowing her much more mobile movement than in the past. It's a blessing and a painful reminder of her autonomy. He glances down at his ring finger—the lack of weight still off to him, but more more apparent now that she brought it up. "Why?"

"It's not like you were going to wear yours again." The retort comes out faster than his mind can speak and Al internally curses himself. It's not like she could anyway; it was in his pocket. "I mean—"

"No, it's...it's okay. I understand. Sorry I asked, Alfendi." She strides back into her room, the door slamming shut with more force than she normally does. He could swear that he heard a choked sob coming from that door. 

It takes everything within him not to punch a hole into the wall at his stupidity.

* * *

Much to his chagrin, she brute forces her way to come to work. He doesn't try to stop her—once Lucy has something on her mind, she doesn't see to any reason, memory loss or not. It was one of the reasons he fell in love with her.

It was only serving as a dull throb now.

They stride into Scotland Yard, Lucy hobbling behind him as he kept his head down. So far, as they make their way to the back offices, nobody is there to stop them so far. He begs for no interruptions, for nobody to ask, to judge.

He should have known that the universe was rarely so merciful.

Sniffer is the one that's in the hallway, along with Florence, chatting amicably about something amusing. Their friends. Both of their coworkers' eyes comedically widen at the sight of them—in a normal situation, he's sure, Lucy would be laughing.

"Lucy! What are you doing here?" Florence asks, "You shouldn't—achoo!—be here. Does Barton know?"

"Dats right, Luce! Can't be hobblin' around tryna zip, eh?" Sniffer adds, crossing his arms.

Lucy glances to the Prof for some sort of reassurance, some sort of help as to who these people are. He merely mouths, ' _coworkers_ ' to her and she nods, a small smile on her features. It's enough for him to smile back, the warmth seeping into his chest unrequested.

"Ah, where are my manners, I forgot ya...don't know us anymore. I'm Sniffer. This is Florence. We er...have been workin' with you for awhile." Sniffer introduces, "Er...hope we haven't made you uncomfortable, I'd understand if you'd like to zip off _now_."

"Oh, no no! It's okay. Ee, it's just a bit jarring, I guess." She peers to Alfendi, blinking. Seeking for a way out of this awkward situation. "I just got back and all...just were gettin' tired of being cooped up in Alfendi's flat."

" _Alfendi_?" Sniffer glances to Alfendi, an eyebrow raised. Alfendi responds with a biting glare. Damn Sniffer and his inability to see the obvious sometimes despite his abnormally large glasses.

"Er, aye?" Lucy says meekly, now looking to Alfendi as well. "Did I say summat wrong?"

"No. You didn't. And we will be taking our leave. No use in idling, I need to teach Lucy the ropes again. Flo, Sniffer." He grabs Lucy by the wrist, leading her away from them without another word. He knows Florence and Sniffer still staring at their hasty retreat, but once they turn a corner, Alfendi sighs in relief and lets go of Lucy's wrist.

"Thank you." She murmurs, "I didn't know what to tell them. Why did they look so concerned I called ya by your name?"

"It's nothing. They're just...being difficult." He merely shrugs, knowing she doesn't buy the lame excuse. Though, much to his luck, she doesn't press on the matter.

* * *

Their routine is as normal as it once was every time she came to the Yard with him. Open up the case file, start up the Reconstruction Machine, and begin investigating. It was oddly reminiscent to how they had been prior to her promotion, though he doesn't comment too much on it as though commenting would lead to the whole thing being some stupid dream he manifested on a lonely night. He actually revels in the single bit of the past that she had unknowingly placed in his lap, almost believing that it wouldn't change.

It is the randomest case that brings a shift. It was boring, the man who had been behind it easily gave way once Al wrenched control and pressured him to confession. Neither personality is prepared for her to suddenly trap him against his desk and he almost forgets what had gone on for seven weeks. The memory loss, the awkward distances, the lack of warmth next to him in the mornings and evenings all dissipated at her touch. It was easy to melt into—afterall, it was something he had missed for weeks. 

The familiar touch stops his brain; the kiss flash fries it.

It is demanding, seeking, as normal as it would have been seven weeks ago. Lucy was, much to Alfendi's delight, a generally voracious lover. _This_ was what he considered the norm when it came to their embraces most of the time, but even in his addled desire of what he had been missing, it wasn't right.

No.

It's easy to push her off. It's not so easy to see the hurt expression in her eyes, but he can't just let her make this stupid mistake.

"What are you doing?" Fendi asks, quietly. 

"I...I just thought..." All the heat that was behind her eyes fades away as she clutches onto her green coat's fabric, clenching it for some semblance of anchoring. 

"What? What did you think, Baker?" Al barks, "That you could kiss me and all your memories would come back?"

"No! Well, maybe, but—" she lets her hand run over her face, exasperated, unsure of how to react. "I don't know, I just...I can see this, Alfendi. I can see how I fell in love with you and I'm not surprised at all. And I want to try maybe—"

"No." Fendi, surprisingly, is the firm one in this. Lucy's eyebrows raise in shock.

"But I can just—"

" _No_ , Lucy. You don't...you can't do this. It was one thing for you to fall in love with me the first time and I hardly believe the universe is lazy enough to let it happen again. I don't expect anything from you." He lets out a shaky exhale, revealing what he had been preparing after she had been discharged from the hospital, "I've found a flat that you can live in and have started our divorce papers. I won't let you force yourself onto me because you think you owe me anything from the memories you've lost."

"Alfendi—"

"You won't have to worry about a thing. We didn't get a chance to merge our financials yet, so you've been saved that headache. It'll be fine." _You'll be fine._ He swiftly gets away from her, sidestepping and making his way to the door. 

"I just..." He doesn't allow her to finish, instead striding away from the room without so much as a by your leave. She doesn't follow him.

* * *

Lucy stops coming with him and Alfendi doesn't seem to find any reason to care. They flat around the flat, avoiding each other like the plague if they could help it. Lucy looked miserable, Alfendi knew, but he wasn't selfish. He wasn't going to force her to stay and that look of sadness would go away soon enough.

The boot comes off after several weeks of chronic avoiding and he knows he can't leave the business out forever. He slips her new flat address and all the other papers she needed to build her life away from him under her door to prevent any more awkward conversation. Divorce papers among them.

The beginning of the end indeed.

* * *

Alfendi hears Lucy walk in, but he can't bear to look at her. Not on this final day. He quickly pretends to be busy with the case file he had laying on his lap. He wasn't actually analyzing it properly, though it was quite the useful prop. The floor creaks slightly on the awkward part that they both knew to avoid, but there was no indication of her moving her weight off of it. Perhaps she was waiting for him to speak.

"I can help you get some boxes for your moving." He says, scanning the same words that he had read an hour ago and yet still couldn't quite process properly. She doesn't say anything and he frowns, continuing on. "Most of your possessions should fit about five boxes, don't you think? You can keep the key here, if you want..."

Lucy still doesn't say anything and Al, for all of his impatience, wrenches his eyes up to look at her, a harsh response on his tongue. 

It dies at the sight of her expression. 

She's blinking, rapidly. Like a camera that has it's shutter opened and closed, over and over again. It just dawns on him that she's crying, her tears spilling onto her green coat. He thinks to stand, but Fendi keeps them in place. Any sudden movement could perhaps lead to something worse. He wasn't going to risk that.

"Lucy?" Fendi asks quietly, case file closed and placed next to his cooling tea. At the address, she shakes her head and closes her eyes, opening them after a very pregnant pause and a deep breath. She takes a single step forward, grasping onto the nearby table where their wedding photo was framed, collecting dust. She raises her index finger up to where he was sitting, but not necessarily pointing at him. Pointing at the actual sofa.

"You sat there. No...you laid there. With me that time." She begins, brows furrowed. Alfendi only looked more confused at that. He hadn't done that during her entire stay here after the hospital.

"Er—" He begins a protest, but it dies as she continues talking over him as though he wasn't there.

"You asked me if we should have children over tea and chocolate biscuits. I think I almost choked on my own biscuit when you said that. You said you wanted a boy and a girl, but you weren't picky as long they were ours." She says slowly, eyes narrowing. Alfendi feels like all the air in his lungs had been sucked away at her words alone, but he listens intently. "You were sprawled...your 'ead on my lap, there was...something funny on the telly _._ Some panel show, right? I laughed at it. Your arms laying about. You were playing with my hair. You said it was too long and needed to be cut."

He's about to interrupt when she continues, "I told you I wanted a Virgo child as a joke. You told me astrology was rubbish, but for anything, you'd try. You were put out at the fact that our sex had to be 'timed' but you wanted to give me what I asked, though I think you just forgot contraceptives existed for a moment." She lets out a choked laugh and she lets out more tears from her eyes, like waterfalls that never seemed to end. "I was only joking, _Prof_."

Alfendi jerks upright at the address, a wave of emotion swelling within his throat. He feels as though he finally inhaled his first real breath since the last time he had seen her, safely in his arms a whole month ago. The whole time her memory had been gone, she didn't call him by that name...her endearingly annoying nickname; just by his first name with a detached tone. She doesn't look at him quite yet and continues, "We got this flat because you didn't like mine and I didn't like yours, even though you know you spent most of your time at mine. Well, Al didn't like it, did he? Fendi was ready to compromise but I wouldn't...I wouldn't have both of you disagreeing. This was the compromise...and..."

Her eyes snap to his own tearful ones. She looks at him in the way that he thought he'd never see again, finally _seeing_ him like she had in the past, back before the case. He gapes at her, worried that if he even moved a single muscle that he would wake up, alone in the flat they had called theirs for two years.

"You said I decorated to both of your tastes...your...your eyes were brimming with so much _love_ , Prof. I never felt...I never felt so full of love until you looked at me like that. Summat in that expression...right at that moment...I think that's when I knew I wanted to marry you." Lucy's voice brimmed with emotion as she stepped closer to him tentatively, chuckling now. "Do you know how 'ard it is to go get a ring made while your boyfriend works at the same department as you? So many lunch meets with Florence, only for me to actually be sneakin' off to the jewelers. I thought you'd catch me at one point. Oh, _Prof_."

He scrambles to his feet and comes straight to her, just merely stopping metre or two. He's not quite sure, but it's not close enough. He doesn't want this spell to break.

Please be real.

Please.

**_Please._ **

"L-Lucy?" She lets out another choked sob and wraps her arms around his torso, closing the gap he had mindfully placed. He can feel how shaken she is, all the memories placing themselves rightfully in her mind. She's not the only one trembling.

"Oh, Prof, I r-remember." Lucy says against his shirt and he wraps his arms around her tiny frame, trembling. "I remember, I remember..." The two words come out like prayers, slowly turning into incoherence for a brief moment, then turning into, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry my love," over and over again like some prayer and she was the horrid sinner.

"No, please..." Fendi murmurs softly in her hair, the closest he'd been in weeks, almost two months. "It wasn't your fault. You wouldn't have been able to know that this would be the conclusion."

She wrenches away from his grip, eyes furious. "I went into that like an _idiot_! And I caused you a whole lot of pain, Prof. I tried to initiate summat in the Mystery Room even though I knew you were still compromised! Tell me, who does that to their love?"

"You didn't know. You believed in your training and thought you could do it because you thought there was only one perpetrator. As for what happened in the Mystery Room...you tried. You were trying. I wasn't and I'm sorry for that." Alfendi brings her back close, savoring the way her body fit against his perfectly yet again. "It's okay, my dear. You're home. _You're home._ "

He reaches into his trouser pocket, pulling out two wedding rings. He first puts his own on, the weight comfortable on his finger and more importantly: belonged there. Lifting her trembling hand, he slides hers into its rightful slot, whispering sweet murmurs into her hair that all was well. She was forgiven. Everything would be okay. They were okay.

The sight of the ring only causes her to sob uncontrollably into his shirt, dampening the material with her tears and her apologies spill from her lips without any sight of stopping. At any rate, she'd probably drive her throat hoarse. In another time, perhaps he would have berated her for being poor in her treatment of herself and wetting his clothing. Not this time. Not when he finally feels, for the first time in what felt like eternity, that he could breathe again.


End file.
